


47

by FatalCookies



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalCookies/pseuds/FatalCookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“High Command is having trouble placing me.”</p><p>“You’re a Pearl. So they put you on sentry duty at one of the compounds, place you in custody of some aristocrat looking for a spare Pearl—what, you were assigned to a ship that crashed? Some higher-up that got tired of you?”</p><p>“A Topaz,” the Pearl said. “She, um... she didn’t want me.”</p><p>“Because you ask so many questions?” Verdelite said with a grin.</p><p>“Oh—no. I... I think that’s why I’ve been having trouble finding a permanent assignment, but—no. She dismissed me right after she saw me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	47

**Author's Note:**

> Because what is life if you aren't going to engage in some entirely self-indulgent fic featuring gem fancharacters that you love far too dearly?
> 
> This fic was originally posted on tumblr and can be found [here](http://fatalcookies.tumblr.com/post/136490757358/honestly-it-was-appalling-to-send-a-hardware).

It was appalling to send a hardware engineer back and forth across the systems. It was impractical and belittling and—and—a job for maintenance crews, for outdated techs to put their nose into blueprints and figure out for their own selves. 

Only, they said, the hardware was too large, too extensive, too integrated to move. Only, they said, the hardware was in need of an overhaul, not an update. They said, we want an engineer to go in, and look at it, and salvage as much as they can before designing, building, and implementing new systems.

And so, “shipped back and forth across the systems” was precisely what Verdelite suffered through. And, either because she was the best they'd got, or because she was an embarrassing defective tech, or both, High Command decided to assign her an escort.

The real kicker was, she actually believed for a few seconds that this meant they were taking her and her work seriously.

Then she got the assignment.

“A Pearl,” she deadpanned. “A _Pearl_. I’m sorry, do I look like aristocracy to you—? What am I supposed to do with a corner adornment? I’m a tech going off-planet, I need basic surveillance and practical assistance, and you—you’re assigning me some _decorative bauble_ as an _escort_?”

Unshaken, the Morganite pressed on, “Pearls are not infrequently assigned to sentry positions, and some, even, to more functional roles. This one so happens to have practice in both. We are quite certain that she will useful for your next several assignments.”

“All I know for certain,” Verdelite grumbled, “is that Jade will be demanding to know how a tech got her hands on a Pearl. _I_ don’t even know what to say.”

But that was High Command’s decision, and so, that was that. Verdelite was left to wonder what in the world things were coming to, if they were giving away Pearls to any old engineering tech, these days.

—

Across the comm systems, it was impossible for them to tell whether or not she happened to have her implants switched on. In-person was more difficult. She’d learned the hard way that High Command could get tetchy if conversations passed with no obvious eye contact. Much as Verdelite was loathe to give anyone self-satisfaction for a job that was shoddily thought-out, the egos of the higher-ups were a bit like live wires: delicate to work with, nasty to mess up. Best to proceed with caution, and just remind herself, over and over, that she was controlling the scene, too.

On the first day of her new assignment, Verdelite grumbled, braced herself, and switched on the device. The cozy dark expanse before her promptly broke away into harsh relief, hard-edged shapes, and too much movement. Gritting her teeth, she nudged her toes out a little wider, fighting vertigo.

Stars above, but she hated seeing.

The Project Coordinator entered in—a Chalcedony, if she had to guess from the sound of the footsteps—and alongside her, the Pearl. 

Most gems, Verdelite suspected, got a lot more out of seeing than she did. Came with the territory of not having seen in all of her formative decades, she supposed. Long of it short, she didn’t know what she was supposed to gather about this Pearl, or whether, in fact, there was some clue as to why a Pearl was being assigned to _her_. If there was, she wasn’t getting it from the visual. Waste of her time—she was dizzy and frazzled now for just as much of nothing as it ever was.

(She did notice that it wasn’t a particularly fancy Pearl. On the rare occasion she’d been in the same room with Pearls, she could distinguish them purely by the swishing of their heavy ornamentation, by the filigree of their attire, and whatever else decorative nonsense they put on. This one moved with the same fleeting, quiet steps as Pearls seemed to, but with none of the additional noise.)

Verdelite frowned severely, and turned her chin up until she could look the Coordinator in the eye. The expression itself was hard to read, but it changed, and Verdelite could guess: fragile ego stoked, mission accomplished, it was just a matter of time before she could switch the damned implants off again.

“Your escort will follow you to the labs,” she said.

“Thanks,” Verdelite replied dryly. Then, brusquely, she added, “You can tell High Command that I’ll be sending status updates every rotation, or else when I meet quota. I’ll expect word if plans change, and barring extreme circumstances I will be need a full rotation’s notice to change location. They don't get to rush perfection like they tried last time. Tell them if they want a clean job, I need time to gather my things and wrap up any loose ends on my projects.”

The Chalcedony’s voice grew dangerously even. “Quite the demands you make, for a tech.”

“If High Command wasn't willing to put up with my demands, they wouldn’t have given me this assignment. Excuse me. I have to get to work.”

Verdelite turned on her heel. She heard a murmur from the Chalcedony behind her—soft, faintly admonishing—and then a flurry of feather-soft footsteps as the Pearl hurried to catch up. Verdelite closed her eyes, blocking out the onslaught of information opened up by the implants, and rolled her shoulders with relief.

“I take it you’re clear on your assignment, Pearl,” she deadpanned.

“Sentry duty, in the strictest sense,” the Pearl announced. “Basic surveillance, seeing to it all areas are secure and that you are not disturbed in the course of your work. Though, pardon my saying, there was some suggestion that you might be in need of other assistance. Only ask and I will gladly do all I can!” 

Verdelite actually stopped, then, and heard the Pearl scuffle, and mutter a soft ‘oh’ as she narrowly avoided crashing into her from behind. She turned her head aside, vaguely in the direction of the Pearl behind her. 

A long silence passed before the Pearl gently added, “Um. I’d be happy to carry your things if ever you need.”

Verdelite paused, then shook her head. Dutiful things, she’d heard. Pearls, if they were something besides pretty, were invariably dutiful. But she was fairly certain that in all of her limited exposure, she’d never heard a Pearl or even heard _of_  a Pearl sounding this... cheerful.

“Gladly do... all you can,” Verdelite repeated at last.

There was an affirmative hum—was that _enthusiasm?—_ and a pause, presumably a nod. “I am happy to serve.”

“Right,” Verdelite said. “Then, first things first. Chalcedonies may be quiet clods, call it the grace of dignitaries, or sneaks, whatever you like, but I do so believe I heard the doors close. The Coordinator’s taken her leave of us, yes?”

“Um—” a brief pause, and a faint rustle suggested turning to look. “Yes.”

“Good. Then you tell her nothing about _this_.”

This, being the way that Verdelite promptly brought up her hand to her temple, and flipped the kill switch on her implants. When she opened her eyes again, she was greeted with the same cozy grey-black as ever, and she relaxed another fraction. 

“Um,” the Pearl started to murmur.

“—Better yet, say _nothing_ about this,” Verdelite snapped. “Whatever you’re thinking about it, whatever you think you have to say—keep it to yourself. I don’t want to hear it.”

“As you like,” the Pearl said at some length. And some of the enthusiasm had slipped out of her voice, but it still didn’t sound like the formal, impersonal thing Verdelite would have expected. It sounded... dutiful, sure, but also, nearly—hopeful?

Problem with good hearing, you probably started hearing things that weren’t actually there. Verdelite rolled her eyes and stalked off to her lab, where the Pearl followed, and where she set out her things and began work.

—

They gave her ten rotations to complete the first design-and-implementation overhaul. Verdelite completed the project in seven, and she was shipped off to the next station on-planet to repeat the process, a task she assumed would take four rotations at most to complete, taking into account minor alterations or setbacks.

Only, she got to her worktable and ran her fingers along the ledge, and then, when she flattened her palm to gauge the size of the table, her fingertips brushed upon something already there. And for a split second she suspected it was just the mess left over from whatever over-baked tech was in here last, but—that was a leverage optimizer. That was a leverage optimizer within easy reach, and if she moved half a hand-span to the right, there was a compression filter, and down a hand was her level measure, and—

And these were _her tools_ , all laid out, and she had not put them there.

“What—” she stammered out, voice going a bit hard as she recoiled. “What in the world—oh, for pity’s sake, who’s been mucking around with my things—?”

“Um.”

Verdelite stopped. “Pearl,” she said flatly.

Verdelite waited—the Pearl was on sentry duty, of course, she’d know if any of the crew had been poking about where they shouldn’t have. But then, a short pause later, the Pearl murmured, “I... I’m sorry. I-I saw the way you had your station set during the last project, and I just thought, perhaps if you did not have to set it all out yourself...”

“You did this.”

She heard the Pearl shift. Nervous. “Yes,” she murmured.

“ _You_  did this?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, Verdelite turned back to her work station, and gently brushed her hand over the table’s surface. Everything was in its place. Everything, without exception. She knew Pearls had perfect recall, or else, what good were their holographic projections, but taking initiative was new. Either no one had bothered to explain some of the perks of having a Pearl around, or this one was just taking duty to new lengths. 

And if it were the latter, it raised the question, once again, of why High Command was letting a tech walk around with a Pearl, least of all one willing to perform above and beyond. 

“Right,” Verdelite said at last. “Good work.”

“I—sorry—?”

“Good work,” Verdelite said again, a touch awkwardly. “The station’s, uh, set well.” 

“Really? Oh—I mean—I’m glad,” the Pearl said, sounding a little like she couldn’t believe her luck.

Verdelite, frankly relieved that no one else had been touching her things, just nodded. “Right. Well—carry on.”

She got to work, well aware, now, of the Pearl standing at the door behind her. And every so often, between the bits and the bobs and the construction, she wondered just what that Pearl was observing while she stood back there, anyway.

—

It took another two projects before Verdelite figured out that those little shuffles she heard now and again? They’re predictable. She could actually predict perfectly, now, when the next one was going to come.

It took her one more completed project to figure out why. It was rhythm. The Pearl was shifting about rhythmically. She was... swaying, or dancing, or humming to herself, or just repeating patterns, anyway.

And Verdelite found she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

—

One day, Verdelite realized she’d left her compressor clear on the other side of her workspace. And she had her hands wrapped up in wires and really didn’t want to lose her place. So she called, “Hey! Can you hand me the compressor?”

“Oh—me? Yes!” the Pearl said, and whether it was cheer or not, Verdelite expected it enough not to question it. A pause went by. “Um, what... what is a compressor?”

“The tool I was using before I circled around. Panel on the other side, it should still be there.”

The light pitter-patter of Pearl footsteps followed, and then, a soft, “Ah!” Without another word, Verdelite reached out her hand, and found the compressor placed delicately into her palm.

“Good,” she said simply, and got back to work.

—

If she made a point to say the names of her tools so that the Pearl could learn, well, that was just so that the Pearl could serve and assist, better.

If the Pearl picked up her clues and became something like an adept assistant, for a Pearl... well, dutiful thing that she was, what else would you expect?

—

Wedged between panels and elbow-deep in hardware, Verdelite instructed the Pearl to stand right outside the mechanism, and pass her tools as requested. There was some fumbling to get around, but really, giving the cramped quarters, that was only to be expected. 

“Almost wrapped up,” Verdelite announced. “Pass me the leverage optimizer.”

She held out her hand and the requested item was promptly delivered into her palm. She turned back to her work.

“You’re very good at this,” the Pearl quietly observed.

“Yes,” Verdelite agreed. “I am. That’s why they keep letting me work on these projects, and why High Command actually listens to my demands half the time. They know I’ll keep in line if they do what I say, and so long as I don’t ask too much.”

“Hmm,” the Pearl hummed, amicably. And then, very gently, she murmured, “I just... notice that you hardly ever activate your implants.”

And for half a moment, Verdelite was completely ready to tell her to stop while she was still ahead. Only, the question that the Pearl asked was not quite what she had been expecting:

“How long have you had them?”

“I—oh. The implants?” Verdelite took a moment to get her bearings about her. “For a while, now. Fourteen, fifteen hundred years? Not recently or anything.”

“Were they hard to get used to?”

Verdelite knew, too, that the Pearl wasn’t asking if they were good, or even implying that she’d grown to like the things over time. Even so, her response was a sharp, “I hate them.”

“Oh.” Another small pause passed between them. “I suppose I can see why.”

This time, Verdelite snapped her head around. Even if she couldn’t see, she could still pass on a mean glare, or so she was told. “Can you really?” she snapped.

“Well—it’s just...” The Pearl made a noise not entirely unlike a giggle, something laced with equal parts thoughtfulness and nervousness. “It’s only, I already said—you’re very good, and I see you do not often use your implants. And seeing how marvelously you get around, I think, you must be very used to it! You certainly don’t conduct yourself like you have any trouble. So I think, if it were me, and I was getting along well enough, and then someone came up to me, and told me I was missing something, and gave me something to fill in that missing spot I didn’t know I had... well, it would be like too much, wouldn't it? Getting along all that while, it's not like you were ever missing something at all, and now you just have this extra _piece_ to juggle.”

Verdelite stared. Slowly, the Pearl began to giggle nervously once more. 

“Not that I would know,” she allowed. “Um. What _is_  it like?”

Verdelite opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Not... entirely unlike that,” she confessed. Then she frowned, and turned back to the machine, and started closing connections. “I was getting along just fine,” she mutters, “when they had to go and put these in. It was this or be decommissioned, but I’ll tell you this for nothing—I lost two weeks of work just figuring out how to install a kill switch. All this stupid fuss, because they can’t imagine me working efficiently without seeing, _peh_. Take the optimizer while I get out of here, huh?”

She handed the tool back, and waited for the tell-tale shuffle of the Pearl backing out of the way.

“Have you found any benefit to them at all?” the Pearl asked. “Just... it’s an awful lot of ado, for no benefit.”

“None. _Well—_ I can work with a conventional interface more easily, but I’m a hardware tech with close ties to the software crews, it’s just as easy to rig something up that suits me.”

She clambered out of the machine and stretched. When she went back to close up the panel, she heard the Pearl say, “You get along so well on your own. I’m sure High Command will realize it, one day.”

“They won’t,” Verdelite said. “They’ll throw work my way, because I’m one of the best they’ve got, and when they need they’ll foist me off onto other gems to make sure I don’t get into trouble, though, no one too _important_ mind you, not like they could take anyone actually useful and assign them...”

Halfway through saying it, Verdelite began to feel a little wrong. The Pearl had, after all, been helpful enough. She was about to say—something—when she heard the Pearl give a gentle giggle.

“Well,” she said, “that _does_  sound like me.”

“Yeah,” Verdelite said. Then, at length, she asked, “What did you do to get saddled with me, anyway, huh?”

“Oh. I...” She could hear the Pearl actually straightening up, fixing her posture. Nervous, again. “High Command is having trouble placing me.”

“You’re a Pearl. So they put you on sentry duty at one of the compounds, place you in custody of some aristocrat looking for a spare Pearl—what, you were assigned to a ship that crashed? Some higher-up that got tired of you?”

“A Topaz,” the Pearl said. “She, um... she didn’t want me.”

“Because you ask so many questions?” Verdelite said with a grin.

“Oh—no. I... I think that’s why I’ve been having trouble finding a permanent assignment, but—no. She dismissed me right after she saw me.”

“Pff, what, not the right color to match her drapes?”

A quiet pause went by. “I’m flawed,” she said at last. “Blistered, actually. Sometimes Pearls are adopted after dismissal from their first owner, but...sometimes not. Sometimes they’re recycled—sometimes, passed off for temporary assignment until they outlive their usefulness.” 

None of it was news to Verdelite, exactly—she knew of all said outcomes being possible for Pearls. Still, it was a bit jarring to hear. She blinked, then lifted up her hand. “Let me see,” she said.

For a while, Verdelite heard nothing—and then, only a soft “Oh!” as the Pearl realized what Verdelite was asking, then a rustle as she knelt. And then, Verdelite felt as the Pearl pressed her forehead right into her open palm. 

Flawed was right. Pearls were supposed to be spherical, smooth to the touch, equal in all directions. This one was nearly flat at the top, with an uneven budge pushing out towards the bottom, then tapering in sharply. Still, Verdelite thought as she shifted her hand slightly over the gem—smooth to the touch, solid. Certainly functional, and more than willing to perform...

...until they outlived their usefulness, the Pearl had said. Verdelite suddenly wondered if that was why. She drew back her hand perhaps too quickly, and she heard another rustle as the Pearl straightened up. 

“What assignment is this,” Verdelite found herself asking. “For you? How many minor assignments did you have before you were assigned to me?”

“Forty-seven,” the Pearl announced, without a hitch. “Some lasted longer than others. And I’m always happy to go where I’m needed.”

There was no mistaking it, this time. That was genuine—she really _meant_ that. Verdelite frowned. “So—temporary assignments.”

“Until I am permanently assigned, or outlive my usefulness,” the Pearl said. 

“Sheesh,” Verdelite grumbled. “Is that something all you lot do, talk so casually about getting recycled? For pity’s sake—”

“I’m sorry,” the Pearl quickly said. “I don’t mean to sound blase. It isn’t that, I promise. It’s just...” And Verdelite blinked again, because this time, she could downright hear the smile in the Pearl’s tone, as she pressed on: “If they send me on so many temporary assignments, it just means I’m that much likely to find an assignment where I’ll suit the needs of my owner. And I’d... I’d like that. To do well under their watch. To serve where I’m wanted.”

The pause between the last two words was subtle, barely there, but Verdelite prided herself on excellent hearing. She could hear the Pearl smiling as she spoke, she could certainly hear a pause where there was one.

Wanted. She wanted to be wanted.

Leave it to a Pearl. 

“We’re done here, for the day,” Verdelite said. “I’ll have to re-set the breakers before I can test the mechanism. Reset my workstation while I’m gone, I won’t be long.”

She left with a frown gently set upon her face, and with the sound of the Blister Pearl’s busy steps ringing behind her.

—

The next day, Verdelite commented to the Pearl that she was being a touch more quiet than usual. And haltingly, the Pearl asked her if Verdelite really didn’t mind, being assigned a flawed Pearl and all. 

“You’re talking to a defective tech,” she said. “No, I don’t mind. But it does raise the question of whether ‘Pearl’ is the proper thing to call you or not. I don’t exactly know the drill, having never had a Pearl before.”

The wry tease was not lost. The Pearl made a soft little noise, like the shy start of a giggle.

“You may call me whatever you like.”

“Is that how it’s decided? Whoever you’re assigned to picks, huh?”

“Of course.”

“Hm.”

A small pause went by.

“Though...” the Pearl slowly started, then asked instead, “if I may say—?”

Verdelite waved a hand. “Yes?”

“I call myself Bliss.”

This time, Verdelite barely avoided balking. “What?”

There was a pause. The Pearl's tone hadn't started off strong, and it got no stronger, but nor did it substantially weaken. “Sometimes," she said, "when in transit to my next assignment, I like to tell myself to do my best. Because, you know, any assignment _could_  be permanent. And when I think that to myself, I always call myself Bliss.” A beat. “I’ve never told anyone,” she murmured, “but you’re very nice, and you don’t seem to mind my asking questions when I do, so I thought—if you wanted to call me something, there’s that, too. Pearl, Blister Pearl, Bliss... whatever you like.”

Apart from the moment when she nearly snorted at being called ‘nice,’ Verdelite had gone that whole speech with a feeling like she wanted to demand an answer to a question she couldn’t even put words to. After a moment, she shook herself.

“Right,” she said. “Bliss." She paused for a long, strange moment. "Pass me the clamp.”

She—the Pearl— _Bliss_ —obeyed.

—

And if Verdelite slipped in a mention of her escort’s exemplary performance into her next status update, well—from one defective gem to another, you couldn’t let hard work go unrewarded. 


End file.
